


Three Years

by Star_Sniper



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, fat Akechi, fat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Sniper/pseuds/Star_Sniper
Summary: It's the first time he's seen Akechi in three years.Akira means to say that he's missed him. But what comes out instead is: "You gained weight."Akechi just raises his eyebrows and says, "Nice to see you again, too."(Spoilers for True Ending)[Warning: Weight gain and fat fetish. Don't read if you don't like]





	Three Years

Akira had always known that Akechi had survived that night. He felt it in his bones, in a way that he couldn't quite explain to the rest of the Phantom Thieves. It was as if he and Akechi had formed a connection, not unlike the one that Akira held with his Personas. Whenever a Persona was at the forefront of Akira's mind, he could _feel_ it, curled up in a corner of his subconsciousness. If he was in battle, it would whisper suggestions and strategies to him, cheering when hits landed and hissing in disappointment when they failed. Akira could feel his Persona nudging gently at the edge of his thoughts whenever he let his mind wonder, and over time, it felt as he had always had a spirit nestled in his head. 

Akechi's connection wasn't quite as mystical, if Akira was being honest with himself. Now and again, he would often wonder if it was merely hope and desperation that fuelled his belief that Akechi was still alive. Akira would be the first to admit that Akechi had done some awful, _awful_ things during his life. Akechi had tried to kill Akira twice, after all, and looked as if he had been debating about trying a third time when his Metaverse self had made his presence known. Akira often wondered what would have happened if _that_ Akechi hadn't shown up, but then his mind would always move onto what had actually happened. 

Akechi, a tear-stained and frustrated Akechi, had turned his gun on his other self. Then there had been a gunshot, and nothing more. 

Until exactly three years later, when an unexpected email had found it's way into Akira's inbox. With no title, and from an unknown sender, Akira's heart had leapt into his throat on opening it. 

JOKER

MEET ME. 7.OO PM. AIYA. ALONE. 

The Aiya restaurant, part of a regional chain, was located just a few streets away from Akira's apartment in Okina City. Akira stepped through the entrance at just before seven that evening, bowing his head in response to the owner's cheerful shout of 'Aiya!'. He folded his umbrella, and tucked it into the stand just by the front door. The little restaurant wasn't all that busy at that time of night, despite the tempting 'Rainy Day Special' that was only ever served when it rained. 

Akira grinned to himself as he found a quiet booth in the far corner of the restaurant, he had beaten the Rainy Day challenge a good number of times since moving to Okina City, no doubt completing the Big Bang challenge back in Shibuya had helped him fulfil the requirements for tackling such a seemingly endless meal. Though personally, Akira far preferred the Rainy Day Special, there was no time limit and it was far more delicious than a Big Bang burger that had the habit of going a little cold towards the end of the challenge.

Akira had deliberately sat with his back towards the door. At precisely seven o'clock, the door opened and then closed again. The owner cheerfully shouted out his traditional greeting to the newcomer. Footsteps sounded on the wooden floorboards, even and steady and precise. Akira closed his eyes as he felt someone walk by him, with a cool, light and familiar scent. Someone slipped into the booth into the booth opposite him, with the easy grace that _he_ had forced himself to possess. Though, there was a heaviness to it that was foreign to Akira, and his eyes fluttered open. 

“You gained weight.” The words fell from Akira's lips before he could stop them. 

Akechi merely raised an eyebrow in response. “Nice to see you again, too.”

Akira couldn't stop staring at the man opposite him. Akechi's face had become a little rounder, making him look startlingly young for his eighteen years. The sharp jut of his shoulders was softer now, his formerly toned arms coated in a fine layer of fat. Unable to see Akechi's lower half from where he was sitting, Akira's gaze fell to the prominent swell of his belly. Akechi's stomach had grown plump and round, it was straining against the front of his coat. The booths at Aiya were notoriously narrow, and Akira felt his stomach twist on noticing that the crest of Akechi's belly was just an inch away from the edge of the table. 

Akechi's deceptively gentle dark brown eyes, however, were exactly as Akira had remembered them. 

“Most people are able to identify someone who is familiar to them by their profile alone,” Akechi began answering Akira's question before he could even ask it, “By drastically changing my profile, I am far less likely to be discovered. Hair dye and make-up can only take me so far.” 

It was with a sudden jolt that Akira realised that he hadn't even noticed that Akechi had dyed his hair. “Black hair doesn't suit you.” 

Akechi's lips twitched up into a faint smile. “You're full of compliments tonight, Joker.”

“I'm just surprised,” Akira reached up to adjust his glasses, “Can you blame me?” 

“I get the impression that you're more surprised by my appearance than you are by my reappearance,” Akechi leant forwards, resting his elbows down onto the table, and Akira felt his heart skip a beat on seeing that stomach press up against the table edge, “I'm fat, Joker. Get over it.”

“Sorry,” Akira exhaled, expelling a breath he hadn't realised that he had been holding onto, “Why did you want to meet me?”

“Direct as always. I must admit, I was expecting you to be at least a little more surprised,” Akechi raked his hand back into his hair, the black strands standing out starkly against his skin, “Then again, you've always had the habit of being infuriatingly laid back.”

“I knew,” Akira found himself subconsciously mirroring Akechi's movements, tugging on a curl of dark hair, “Don't ask me how. I just knew that you weren't... gone.” 

Akechi studied Akira with faint bemusement in his eyes. “Still can't pull one over on Joker, can I?”

“So,” Akira began hesitatingly, gaze only straying momentarily to Akechi's rounded stomach, “What happened? How did you escape? Futaba said that she couldn't sense you after the gun went off.” His throat ached at the memory, at how distraught Futaba had sounded as she desperately tried to locate some source of Akechi behind that door. “How did you do it?” 

“It's a long story,” Akechi gestured towards the restaurant counter, “How about we order first?”

At Akechi's insistence, Akira ordered for the both of them, two Rainy Day specials. He took a great deal of satisfaction at the startled look that crossed Akechi's face as the enormous bowl was set down in front of him. The meat was piled so high that the noodles weren't even visible beneath it, and that in turn was coated with a fried egg. Akira watched as Akechi split his chopsticks, pinching a succulent piece of meat between the ends. There was something so elegant about the way Akechi ate, as if part of him was still putting on a show for whoever happened to be watching. 

Taking up his own chopsticks in hand, Akira listened as Akechi began to speak. Unsurprisingly, Akechi had always had a plan ready, should he have to disappear from the public eye. After finding himself on the grass outside of the National Diet Building, Akechi had simply dusted himself off, assessed his relatively minor injuries, before heading towards the nearest train station. There, Akechi explained after swallowing a mouthful of noodles, he had caught the next train to Aoyama-Itchome, the station just outside of Shujin Academy. 

“I've had a locker there for some time,” Akechi paused to dab at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “I had clothes, money, a spare laptop and cellphone. I changed in the bathroom there, using my former clothes as,” he tapped at the rounded curve of his stomach with a wry smile, “- as padding. I took the next train to Iwatodai, and completed the rest of my disguise. I've been there ever since, playing the role of a simpleton who failed his entrance exams the first time around.”

Akira lowered his chopsticks into his bowl, scooping up a mass of dripping noodles. “I'm relieved that you're okay. Despite everything.”

“Despite everything,” Akechi echoed wryly, “You'd take pity on a murderer? One who tried to kill you a number of times? Surely even death by my own hand wouldn't have been redemption for what I've done.” 

“No,” Akira agreed with a small nod, “It wouldn't have been. I'm not denying that you've done some awful things. That you took lives.” Akira's fingers tightened around his chopsticks. “That you killed Futaba's mother. I won't ever forgive you for that.” 

“Yet you're glad to see that I'm alive?” Akechi questioned, unable to hide the curiosity in his expressive brown eyes. 

“I am,” Akira swallowed his mouthful of noodles and broth, taking some comfort from the warmth that radiated through him, “I won't defend your actions. But I can accept that you had reason for them. I also believe that you tried to do the right thing in the end, with your cognitive self. Didn't you?” 

Akechi smiled, a ghost of the sweet-yet-smug smile that his fangirls had adored. “Perhaps.” 

“Then we'll leave it at that,” Akira decided, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his index finger, “You never did say why you wanted to meet me.” 

“I was bored,” Akechi lowered his gaze to his ramen bowl, the pile of meat having shrank to the point where it could be mixed in with the noodles, “I happened to catch a television special about the Phantom Thieves one night. It wasn't all that hard to track you down, though I found myself surprised that you didn't return to Tokyo. What with your thriving social life and endless circle of friends.” There was no disguising the bitterness in his tone, despite how mildly Akechi spoke. 

“I missed you,” Akira was surprised at how easily the words fell from his lips, “That was what I meant to say earlier,” he added hastily, feel his cheeks heat up, “Instead of commenting on your... weight.”

Akira couldn't understand what it was about a chubbier Akechi that sent delighted shivers down his spine. His eyes kept tracing the swell of Akechi's belly through his clothes, he kept wondering what it would feel like underneath his fingertips. Would it be firm and warm? Or would it be soft and pliable? Akira's blush deepened across his cheeks as he watched Akechi's stomach rise and fall with each breath. It looked so heavy and full, to Akira, and he found himself with the sudden desire to just _touch_ it, to feel the weight of it across his hands. 

“You keep staring at me,” Akechi noted with a calculating gaze, “Your pupils are dilated, suggesting either hatred or affection. Though, given your flushed cheeks and parted lips,” Akira hurried clamped his lips together into a firm line, “- I would suggest it's the latter. The direction of your gaze appears to be around my midsection, rather than my face, suggesting that there is something there that you find appealing.” 

Akira poked at his remaining noodles, his face burning crimson. 

“You find me attractive like this,” Akechi continued softly, “Don't you?” 

“Maybe,” Akira croaked, a chopstick slipping from his slack fingers, “I don't know. I just feel _something_ when I look at you like this. When I think about how you got like this.” He tugged at a curl of hair, out of nervous habit. “Seeing you like this makes you more softer. More approachable than you used to be. More _real_ , somehow.” 

Akechi's mouth curled up into a faint, faltering smirk. “You mean you think you stand a chance now that I'm less attractive?”

“How can you say that?” Akira curled his fingers against the table edge, fingernails digging into the wood, “You're still attractive. You look good.” He swallowed hard against the flutter in the pit of his stomach. “You look really good.”

“Then prove it,” Akechi placed his chopsticks across the top of his now mostly empty bowl, just a little broth and some wayward noodles remaining, “Your apartment is close by, isn't it?”

Akechi moved more slowly than he used to, Akira noticed as they walked along the rain soaked streets towards his apartment. Akechi was still graceful, but slow, his thighs brushing against one another with each step that he took. Akechi's breathing was soft, but slightly laboured, Akira found it hard to recall that the former detective had once effortlessly ran around Mementos with him and the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Akechi seemed so harmless when he was so round and soft and left breathless from a brisk stroll through the rain, Akira realised as they approached his apartment. 

Something about seeing Akechi so vulnerable sent a rush of affection through Akira. 

“Make yourself at home,” Akira stepped out of his shoes on entering his apartment, like many modern teenagers in Japan, he didn't own a set of slippers for around the house, “Do you want something to drink?” 

“You still have something to prove to me, Joker,” Akechi reminded him, unbuttoning the front of his coat with deft fingers, “I'll pass on the drink for now.” 

Akira watched Akechi out of the corner of his eye as he leant over to unfasten his loafers, his stomach had folded into two soft rolls, the lower one peeking out over the waistband of his slacks. “Then you just want to...?”

“Yes,” Akechi's eyes had grown dark with something that Akira couldn't quite decipher, “I can only accept the truth with indisputable evidence. That's the mark of a true detective.”

After his year in Tokyo, Akira had grown accustomed to sleeping on a bed, as opposed to a futon. While it had taken a notable chunk out of his savings, he had purchased a double bed for his apartment, and in that moment he was grateful for it. He led Akechi into his bedroom, subtly kicking aside a pair of discarded sweatpants into a corner. Akira scanned his room for anything incriminating that he may have left out, fortunately he tended to keep his room fairly tidy, almost as if he half expected for Sojiro to stick his head in any moment. 

Turning on the ball of his foot, Akira stepped forwards to close the distance between Akechi and himself. Akechi's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were clear, and Akira found himself trying to put a name to the emotion he could see in those brown depths. Was it doubt? Worry? Was it hesitation that was making Akechi's upper lip curl, revealing a flash of perfect white teeth? Akira reached out, running his fingertips experimentally along Akechi's softened jawline. 

“How did you get like this in just a few years?” Akira ran the pad of his thumb underneath Akechi's chin, asides from his rounder cheeks, Akechi had gained very little weight in his face. 

“It's startlingly easy to gain weight. It's why there is such an obesity epidemic in the West,” Akechi murmured, accepting Akira's touches in the manner of a somewhat begrudging cat, “I simply allowed myself to overindulge. Full fat milk instead of skimmed. An extra mochi. Perhaps two. I've become exceedingly fond of greasy, take-out food. I'm fortunate to live near a branch of Big Bang Burger.” 

The thought of Akechi spoiling himself with rich and fatty foods sent a pulse of pleasure through Akira's crotch. “Do you know how much you, uhh, put on?” 

“Of course I do,” Akechi looked mildly insulted, though the effect was somewhat spoilt by the light dusting of pink across his cheeks, “Sixty kilograms.” 

Sixty kilograms? Akira felt faint as he quickly worked out the conversion in his head. One hundred and thirty two pounds. Nine and a half stone. Most of that weight had settled over Akechi's stomach and thighs. Akira's fingers trembled as he lowered his hand, skirting over Akechi's fuller arms, and down across to the front of his shirt. Akechi still had a clear fondness for tailoring his clothes to fit his frame, though Akira's sharp eye noticed that one or two of the buttons were pulled tightly across Akechi's stomach, which was no doubt a little fuller and rounder than usual from the Rainy Day special. 

Akira pushed down against one of the struggling buttons, drawing a startled gasp from Akechi. He nudged the trembling button out of it's hole, revealing a teasing glimpse of Akechi's belly. Akira worked quickly to unfasten the rest of the buttons, the two halves of Akechi's shirt separating, sliding apart to rest either side of his rounded belly, like curtains framing a masterpiece. Akira curled his hands around Akechi's chubby sides, a squeeze of the excess flesh rewarded him with another soft sound from Akechi.

Akira slid Akechi's open shirt from his shoulders, letting it pool onto the floor around his feet. Akira curled his fingertips around the hem of his long sleeved Henley, pulling it up over his head in one fluid motion. At least, that had been Akira's plan, until he realised that he had forgotten to take off his glasses. The neck of his top caught the arm of his glasses, knocking them down onto the floor with a clatter. Akira winced as he pulled the rest of his top over his thick, curly hair, peering down at his feet for the fallen glasses. 

“Do you really need these, or are they merely a fashion accessory?” Akechi rose from where he had leant over, glasses held gently between his hands. 

Akira accepted the glasses with an embarrassed smile, turning to place them on his desk. “I'm far-sighted. I can get by without them, but it's just easier to keep wearing them.” 

Rain pattered against the window. Akira found himself in front of Akechi once again, close enough to feel the former detective's breath rush past his cheek. Akira leant in to press his lips to Akechi's own, allowing himself a victorious smirk as Akechi jolted in surprise. Akechi's lips were soft against Akira's slightly chapped ones, and tasted faintly of the salty broth they had eaten. As Akechi finally relaxed into the kiss, Akira slipped his hand into Akechi's hair, the dyed strands contrasting sharply against his pale fingers. 

Slipping his arm around Akechi's waist, Akira coaxed him back towards the bed, his lips barely leaving his for more than a few seconds at a time. Akechi followed slowly, but eagerly, his protruding belly nudging up against Akira with each step that he took. Pleasure shot down to Akira's groin on feeling that heavy gut pushed up against him, so full and so warm and so round that it took his breath away. Akira broke away from the kiss to meet Akechi's darkened gaze, a Joker-esque smirk curling at the corner of his lips. 

Falling back onto the bed, Akira pulled Akechi down on top of him. 

The mattress squeaked in protest, and Akechi exhaled sharply; whether it was from surprise or exertion Akira didn't know, and before he could think about it in too much detail he was being pushed down into the mattress by Akechi's immense weight. A strangled groan left Akira, his heart racing at the pressure being forced down upon his body. He could barely move, Akira realised with a dizzying exhilaration, and he liked it. Akira's skin tingled with pleasure as Akechi struggled to prop himself up on his arms, his cheeks flushed. 

Before Akechi could speak, Akira rolled them into the centre of the bed, using Akechi's weight as momentum. With Akechi now pinned to the mattress below him, Akira scrambled to straddle him. Akechi's thighs had grown thicker, so thick that Akira's leg muscles twinged in protest as he straddled them. Akira lowered himself down onto Akechi's belly, squashing the soft and pliable fat against his own slender midsection. A jolt of pleasure shot through his spine, and down to his groin, and Akira felt himself harden against the underside of Akechi's belly with embarrassing speed. 

“I was correct,” Akechi raised an eyebrow underneath the strands of dyed hair clinging to his forehead, “You truly do find me attractive like this.” 

Akira felt his face grow warm, forehead brushing against Akechi's own. “Yeah.”

Pressing kiss after kiss against Akechi's lips, Akira studied the softer lines of Akechi's face through his eyelashes. Akechi's cheeks were fuller than before, a softness gathering along his once sharp jawline. Akira moved away from Akechi's lips to kiss the small swell of fat underneath his chin. Those extra pounds hadn't masked Akechi's handsome features in Akira's opinion, they had only softened them. He pressed a lingering kiss to one of Akechi's flushed, round cheeks, before peppering further kisses down the still elegant arch of Akechi's neck. 

“Why?” Akechi tangled his fingers into Akira's dark curls.

Hesitating, Akira raised his head to meet Akechi's quizzical gaze. “I never gave it much thought. All I know is that I do.” 

Akechi snorted softly, an almost affectionate smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Figures.”

“Surely you have some idea?” Akira ran his hand slowly over the great bulge of Akechi's belly, fingers tracing the rolls of fat forming at his sides. 

“A flagrant attempt for me to do the hard work for you?” Akechi's smug response was diminished slightly by the little gasp that left him when Akira pinched at the swell of chub coating his hipbone, “F-fine. I believe that while you appreciate my fuller form on a physical level, I also believe that you enjoy how vulnerable it leaves me. How harmless I am when weighed down by my own excessive consumption, my own greed.” 

Akira's groin pulsated in response, his hardness embarrassingly present against Akechi's soft belly. “You haven't lost your touch.”

“You've just always been painfully easy to read, Joker.” Akechi arched his back, the crest of his stomach pushing back against Akira's crotch. “Now then. Shall we?”

They reached their crescendo, accompanied by the storm raging overhead. Akira's fingers sank into Akechi's soft hips as he thrust himself into him, cushioned by Akechi's plush backside. A strangled yelp left Akira's lips as he came into contact with those heavy buttocks again and again, pleasure shuddering throughout his body. Akechi's back shimmered with perspiration, his great gut quivering with each thrust. Akira whimpered down against Akechi's soft shoulder, his grip tightening enough to leave bruises. 

They both released in a jumbled mess, Akira's mind barely coherent enough to work out which one of them had been tipped over the edge before the other. He fought to catch his breath as he peeled himself away from Akechi, reaching blindly for the box of tissues at his bedside. Dabbing away the worst of the mess, Akira was shaken out of his post-coital stupor by a flash of lightning. The rain was falling harder than before, the city little more than a neon blur through the window. 

“Stay.”

The mattress creaked as Akechi rolled onto his side, pulling his boxers up over his hips with a surprising grace. “There's no need, Joker. I asked for proof, and you gave it to me. Rather enthusiastically, may I add.” 

Akira felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “It's raining. It's late. Just shut up and stay.”

“Fine,” Akechi huffed, but Akira saw the way his shoulders sagged with relief, “If you insist.” 

Having cleaned up the best that he could, Akira pulled the skewed blankets over Akechi and himself, his breath catching in his throat at the way they tented over Akechi's larger form. After only a moment of hesitation, Akira scooted across the mattress to press his back against the swell of Akechi's belly. The blankets shifted almost imperceptibly as Akechi draped a soft and heavy arm across Akira's hip, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth. Akira's stomach squirmed pleasantly underneath Akechi's fingertips. 

Akira fell asleep to the sound of raindrops and the sensation of Akechi's warm belly rising and falling against his back. He awoke to sunshine streaming through the windows, and a cold and empty bed. Akira drew his legs up to his chest, trying to swallow his disappointment. There was little proof that Akechi had ever been there that night, asides from the crumpled sheets and faint whiff of his cologne. Akira rose to strip the bed, stopping on seeing the little business card left on the bedside table. 

The stark and crisp card was one of Akechi's old business cards, the majority of the information had been scribbled out with a biro. Underneath that, Akechi had neatly written a cell phone number, followed by two words that made Akira's heart skip a beat. 

_Call Me._


End file.
